


Spring Awakening

by zeitgeist77



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Chaptered, F/M, Light Smut, M/M, My First Fanfic, Not Canon Compliant, Spring Awakening AU, happier ending than the play, reddie au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-11 04:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20540012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeist77/pseuds/zeitgeist77
Summary: On the trials and tribulations of growing up, the core 7 find themselves facing the unjust society of 19th century Germany. Reddie main, side Benverly, some Stanlon. idk what to do with my guy Bill.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. There will be eventual, probably light smut. (I suck at writing smut) but I'd be open to collaborating with someone if they really want it in the story.

"Mama." a faint, nearly delicate voice said so quiet that she barely heard it. She turned her head and looked to her child, dressed in the shift she had made just a month ago. She looked fondly, though tears sprouted at the bulk of her eyes. 

"Yes, Eddie Bear?" she said, taking the infant into her lap and pushing the soft face into her bosom. The child quit talking, knowing it was time for quiet. Mother stayed this way. The child had no idea what particularly happened, just knowing that Father was gone and that he would most likely never come back seemed to strike the heart in a way never perceived before. There was a feeling deep in the chest of the child, a feeling that had grown up from the swollen belly full of evening apples and warm tea, that soured what was inside. The child sometimes found itself holding it's throat and trying not to puke away what had turned bitter inside, hoping that the issue would resolve itself and that they would be fine again. Maybe if they were fine, Father would come back and Mother could stop crying. 

Instead of speaking aloud, the child wanted to tell his mother what he really knew. "You've forgotten that he loves us. Wherever he is, no matter how far, he would never forget to love us." and that was truly how the child made it through. The last thing Father had said to either of them was 'I love you until the sun rises in the west'. The child was always appeased by this. Whenever the memory of Father disappearing came up and soured the food they ate, the child recalled this then the food tasted ripe as it always had.


	2. Who Made Me So Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11 years later

"Recite until your throats burn. Speak until your lungs give out. Don't stop until you're dead." the professor spoke, always so deliberately. His voice carried through he classroom and shook the walls around him. The young boys who stood in front of him stood upright without quivering, a lesson they had learned long ago. One, who was more busy in the brain than the others, swayed ever so slightly. The professor walked behind him and smacked his back with a ruler. The kid bolted upright and stood stiffer than any other boy in the room. "And, begin." 

The exercise was brutal. The boy was constantly smacked with the ruler, so much so he had recognized bruised shaped like the measuring stick's end. His mother had to repair his suit jacket once every so often when the professor hit too hard. Once, the metal end had broken off and gotten stuck in his skin. He never told her about it and asked one of the girls he was close to if she could fix it. She, fortunately, could. 

The class was small, very few could afford into it and even less could pass the exams. This boy in particular was smart, almost a genius, but he was unconventional. There were other boys who were conventional, but they never measured up to his brain. It was said he could memorize any book in any language in just a day. Some said he had tutored Samuel Fahnestock. It was all rumors and humor, however. But, he had worked on perplexing equations and studied alchemy through essays he managed to get his hands on. Some say he sold his soul to learn. 

"Richard." he'd heard as he walked through the wheat field past the school. He was set on a pear tree off in the distance. He had found it as a young boy when he would climb around the trees with his friends. The spot was ideal for laying a blanket down and reading a book in the shade as the sun slowly set over the small town he called home. The bright orange sun would lay on the trees and reflect in the pond water where ducks and geese frequented before the world got too cold. He liked the silence and the isolation. He preferred it to going home. 

"Miss Marsh. How are you?" he asked, bowing his head to her and bending at the waist. She smacked him with her hand and laughed. 

"You're a miserable jester." she caught his eye as he laughed with her. "What trouble are you getting into?" she asked. She looked at the book in his hand, not seeing a title or author, she grew curious. 

"Absolutely none, though I intend to raise the dead tonight." he played. The wind send the wisps of her hair across her face, so he touched her cheek with such care as to not press on her skin. He tucked the hair behind her ear and smiled so sweetly she almost couldn't recognize him. "And, I would invite you if I hadn't heard you had your own rendezvous at the devil's hour." he spoke quietly. She kept her smile, but it changed. She almost seemed to blush, something he'd never really seen in the girl and he'd seen her in a million ways. 

"And where did you get that horrible rumor from?" she asked, though she could guess the source. 

"Ben talks in his sleep. You should tell him to stop drinking tea before bed. It gives him too much energy." Richard said, offering the advice. She took it too. "Be careful Bev," he said gently, "there a full moon tonight." he offered again. 

"And with you raising the dead, I'll have plenty to look for." she tried to lift their oddly dismal conversation. She was put off and nearly wary of his tone. He'd never been so concerned, though she understood this was an odd situation for her to be in. Benjamin had stolen her heart, she knew it was apparent to Richard. Unfortunately, he knew her too well. The warning of the moon and the tea was a disguise. What he meant to say, if had been clear, was that he was happy for her, but she needed to protect her heart. And she was grateful to him for this. As much as she loved Ben or any other man, she loved Richard first because he cared for her. True brotherly love she'd never known. "Where are you off to now?" she asked, feigning ignorance to her thoughts. 

"Leisure." he said, and that was all. Before she could ask any further questions, he was off. She knew where to, it was never a mystery. But, what was he doing there? She assumed reading, but she knew that was only half of it. Though he was smart and though he liked to be alone, he couldn't go long without speaking. She figured the geese were miserable when he sat for hours at the pear tree. He probably talked them all to death. She watched as he walked along the edge of the woods and out of sight. She took herself back to the town square. She saw that there were busy people and men rushing off. The women were in the shops. Most of them were working, but she liked to imagine that some were buying nice clothes. She hoped they were buying the dresses they fawned over in store windows.


	3. Mama The Weeping

Stanley stood at the alter. He looked to his side, his empty side, imagining someone standing there. For the life of him, he couldn't imagine it being who it should have been. He couldn't look over, gazing at the Chuppah and landing his eyes on Patty. She was sweet, God she was perfect in every way. He hadn't decided why he couldn't do it, but he accepted that maybe he felt inferior. He wouldn't be a perfect husband, he wouldn't be able to provide, he couldn't give her the kids she wanted, they wouldn't be perfect, they would be looked down upon. There were so many things he wanted to go ahead and apologize for and he had barely met her. 

"Stanley." he heard a voice like thunder behind him. His father stood, wearing his robes and standing like a wall. Stanley stood up straight, feeling the grip on his lungs and spine, halting his breath and ridding his body of any curve. He said nothing, but knew his father was waiting for him to speak. "Are you well?" he asked. 

"Yes sir." Stanley said, hiding the squeak that would surely rise in his voice. "I'm headed to the tailor for mother." he said, almost lying. His mother did expect him to run to the tailor, but not for her. He needed to have a suit fitted for his wedding. 

"Son, I know you have some reservations about this," he motioned towards the altar, "but, you are a good man." his father seemed to say that like it was a promise. Stanley couldn't understand it for a moment, he was taken by how solemn and honest it was spoken. But, he accepted what his father had said. He nodded. His father formed a tight lipped smile on his face and motioned for Stan to follow him. Stan nearly broke his legs trying to follow his father, almost falling onto the floor. He managed to hold his balance and kept up with his father's swift steps. "Go on then." his father said, almost like he was releasing a caged bird into the forest. Stan looked at the streets of the town almost as if it were the carnivorous trap of the woods. As he stepped down the staircase, he looked back to his father and took in a breath of stiff air, trying to hold onto it and let it suffice. He felt like he was choking. 

But, he walked on. As the days had passed him, he had felt this cold, this uninvited ghost, sweeping through his bones. He felt sick most days, but it was an inexplicable disease. Some days his body felt like it couldn't move. His limbs and chest grew too heavy and all he could manage to do was lie down. Once, he'd pretended to be sick just to give his body a day of rest. the real disease seemed to be in his mind, if that made any sense at all. It was as if his own mind had betrayed him and said that he was under the weather. Most days he walked about and let the miserable wind hit him. He'd close his eyes and imagine that he was somewhere else completely. Not somewhere on this world, no, beyond it. He'd sit in the fields and watch the birds fly by, marking them in his book and drawing their feathers and patters so delicately. One day, he would need to get a real hobby, but for that day, he was content. 

He walked on to the tailor, Mrs.Masters. She was a lovely old woman, not like a lot of the old folks in town who looked at him and glared. She was kind and she always put out tea for her guests, even if she didn't have many. Stan walked on into her store, giving himself a break from his mind as he inhaled the scent of the brewing leaves. As he stepped through the door, the small bell jingled, welcoming him in. "I'll be right there." he heard from a distance, most likely in her parlor. He walked further, looking at the dresses she'd mended and the fabrics laying on the ground at the back of the shop. She wasn't too organized, but she got her work done just as well as anyone who was. He was peaking around, looking at the works she'd done, admiring her patchworks when she yelled and startled him. "Stanley!" she said in a shrill tone he'd never heard from her. He jumped, almost wetting himself like a child. "You can't be snooping in here. Now, I don't know what is exactly the difference between our weddings, but you can't look at the bride's dress. It's almost unlawful." she pulled him away from the door of her backroom. "Now," she said shoving him into a chair where a steaming cup of tea waited on the table for him, "what are you doing here?" she asked. 

"My suit." he said plainly. 

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "I've been setting it aside for the dress, though that is expected. A bride's dress is much more important than a groom's suit. But, come back tomorrow and we can get the little details fixed." she said. He took another sip and set the cup aside. It took him a second, feeling the sluggish drag of his mind again, he stood and thanked her. As he left, he felt himself choking on the air again. He took to the backs of the buildings and hid from the busy street. God, when had he ever seen so many people about on a late Wednesday afternoon. The air swelled in his lungs, so he started coughing. He wanted to throw up, but all that came up was spit. 

He heard footsteps approach him, but he hadn't looked up. "Oi, are you okay?" the voice asked. Easily, it was a man. Though this voice was much smoother, much nicer than ones he'd heard recently. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard a voice that comforted him rather than scared him. He looked up and was caught gazing at someone he'd never expect in the small unforgiving town. The man stepped back, but Stan had been leaning into him. So, when the man retracted, Stan fell. "Man, are you okay?" he asked again, setting a large hand on Stan's shoulder. "Just breathe." he said. Stan listened to him so easily, obeyed him so easy. 

"Thank you." Stan sighed out. He closed his eyes for just a second. 

The other man, Mike, looked around him for a moment. He seemed to be sizing up the situation. "What's going on?" he asked. 

"Have you ever been married?" Stan asked, looking up. The kind face looked back at him, lashes blinking and fluttering, sending a stir in Stan. 

"No," Mike laughed, "First time?" He asked, which made Stan feel better. Whatever was between them, it was light. Something Stan hadn't felt in a while. 

"No I've been married countless times." Stan laughed. "I just don't know if I'm ready. There are so many mistakes to make." he said, honestly. 

"I suppose marriage isn't being perfect all the time." Mike said, offering a hand to Stan. "It's more of a willingness to do better every day." Stan took it and as he stood, got to gaze a little longer at the face that was so kind to him. "I'm Mike."

"Stan." he returned. 

"Well, Stan. Today is a nice day, there's a breeze out. Let's walk."


	4. Mama Who Bore Me

"Mom." the voice was delicate. The air was thick and his voice trembled. He peaked past the wall into the family room to see an empty room. He looked around and waited for a noise, maybe just a quiet mouse to see him. When he felt safe, he ran to the desk where she kept their paper and pens, and scribbled a note, writing his name neatly at the edge. 'I'm running into town for tea with Mrs.Masters. I should be home before dinner.' it read. His heart raced at the lie. Of course he was going to see Mrs.Masters, but that was only out of fear. He could never say where he was really off to, it would make his mother irrationally angry. He walked towards the kitchen, setting the note under an apple his mother had almost let spoil. Then, he walked through the side door and ran towards town. 

As he approached Mrs.Master's sewing shop, he stopped to pet the cat that sunbathed outside. Though the woman would never say it, she left a bowl of food out for it at night. She loved the tomcat even if it were a nuisance. He walked in, listening to the bell ring as he opened the door. Mrs.Masters, an old woman hunched over her own lap, sat in her spinner's chair and sewed patterns into powder blue dresses. "Hello." he said. She cheerfully gazed to him. She set her work down and attempted to stand. "No, I'll come to you." he said, trying to keep her in her seat. 

"Nonsense, I've been cradled like that all day. Soon, I might turn into a baby again." she laughed to herself. He always liked her jokes, they were almost cruel, but they made him laugh. "Please, let me pour you some tea." 

"Not too much, I've got to get going soon." he said. She looked back at him, her blue eyes glimmering at him. 

She smiled, knowingly. "Lessons?" she asked, testing him. He agreed with her. "If I didn't know any better, I would almost say you were going to meet a girl. You blush as if you are." she poked at him. He looked to the ground, trying to control the rush of blood to his cheeks. "Am I correct?" 

"I'll tell you when you are." he said. She poured the tea into a cup and passed it to him. 

"It's cold now." she said, almost sadly. "It was made earlier, I haven't had time to change the pot." she added. 

"I almost prefer it." he said, offering comfort for an old wench. "How's the wedding dress coming along?" he asked, curious to see it. For a while, she almost didn't make the dress because of the bride's being Jewish, but she realized that it didn't matter. She had gotten some angry stares and sly comments, but no one had changed her mind about her decision. 

"It's coming along, I'm almost miserable over it. The bride's mother is adamant about every slight detail. The waist starts there, the skirt ends here, not too tight here, not too loose there. The bride, she's so sweet and bless her heart, just wants to marry the boy and enjoy her wedding."

"So, she's spoken to the boy?" He asked. 

"Of course, though there was company. You can never truly speak to someone when there's company." the woman took a long sip of her tea. "But she's smitten."

"Good. I believe we should all have the chance to have love." he said, gazing into the cup in his hands, not seeing that the woman had bee watching carefully. 

"What's her name?" she asked. She wanted an answer so badly her old bones ached. 

"I'll be going on that note." he said, setting his cup down and wishing her a good night. 

He walked towards the edge of the woods, but traveled along the edge until he saw the shade of a tree, an unnaturally tall tree. Beneath it was an equally unnaturally tall man. As he walked to them both, the man bounded upwards in excitement. "Eddie." he'd said as he pulled him in for a pear-sweet kiss.


	5. Trust In What Is Written

"Leave the geese alone Richard!" Eddie nearly squealed, watching as the long man chased the animals around, terrorizing them. 

"If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear." Richard yelled. Eddie, though concerned for both beast and man, couldn't help but laugh. 

"At least quote Mary Shelley when you steal her writing." Eddie said, making Richard stop and walk back to him. Eddie looked up into his eyes and seemed to smile even in his eyes. He hadn't done so in a long time. He couldn't remember doing so before Richard showed up in his life. "Are you done being a bastard?" he asked. 

"Only if you are." Richard said, scrunching his nose in Eddie's face, earning a gentle kiss on said nose. "Now I am." he said and grabbed his book from Eddie's hand, going back to laying against the tree. "You have to assume they're intelligent. But, you also have to wonder why they attract to the same fish-less pond." Richard said looking to the geese that had settled back into their routine of waddling aimlessly around the pool of water. 

"That is only something you would think about." Eddie said, laying in Richie's lap. He set his book on the moss beside his left hand and stroked Eddie's hair, the gentle brown wave of silk that felt like grasping at divine sheets. "How was your class?" Eddie asked. 

"No holes in my jacket, but definitely a bruise." he said. 

"I've seen your bruises. Why don't you just stand upright?" Eddie asked. 

"I always think I am, but then I realize I haven't been when he hits me." 

"And what of your lessons. What terrible things have they taught you?" Eddie asked, knowing Richie would complain about the lessons that they never taught in class. He had once talked from midday to sunset about the fact that his education was Bible based and how those with the money are the ones who write the history. Though he might have been right, Eddie was devastated that the education he couldn't afford, the one he looked at with such admiration was just written by men with no intention to teach but to brainwash. He remembered seeing all of the boys leaving their lessons and wanting to know what they knew. But, Richie had been so kind to pass on the knowledge even if he hated the evil roots that came with it. He never liked the lessons enough, he always wanted more. So, Richie did his own studies outside of class which made him more worldly and more inconvenient for his masters. 

"You'll hate to hear it." Richie said. 

Eddie looked at him with narrowed eyes. "When has that ever stopped you?" he asked.

"Edward, this lesson was on the heavenly bodies that cage our upward bound souls." he hugged Eddie, shaking him just a bit. "And I learned all about the beautiful soft bodies that encapsulate the female soul." he squeezed. 

"Okay, yes, you're right." Eddie groaned. "I have no desire to hear about it." just the image made Eddie shiver. 

"Are you sure you have no desire to hear how men and women form a beautiful connection, after marriage of course, and create life in the womb of the soon-to-be mother." Richie egged on. Eddie was thrashing, trying to escape the conversation. "Or I could tell you about how secretly gay the ancient Greeks were." He offered, suddenly Eddie stopped. 

"That's a lie." Eddie said, though he wasn't sure. 

"Why do you think they created olive oil?" Richie asked. Eddie thought for a second, then looked away from Richie at the sky, needing a moment to take in the enlightenment. "Speechless?" He asked.

"I just never expected..." he had no idea how to word it. 

"Eds." Richie pushed a curl behind his ear. "They're all throughout history. We have always existed. It's not a disease or a mutation." he said and kissed his forehead. Eddie smiled and kissed him back, thanking whoever watched over them for Richard Tozier and the gentle feeling that he got when he spoke to him. 

"You should write the history books." he said, making Richie chuckle. "It'd be full of gross anatomy and unholy things, but it might be more accurate." 

"I'll leave Ben and Bill to the writing. They're much better at speaking eloquently and appealing to the people who pay for the books." 

Eddie looked away, landing on the sun, noticing that it was about to fall under the treeline. "Shit." he spit out. He jumped away from Richie and grabbed his coat he'd taken off. "I'll see you soon." He said. 

"Wait, Eddie." Richie said, jumping and following the boy who was rushing away. He reached and grabbed his hand, making Eddie face him. Then, he loosened his grip and rubbed his thumb over the gentle hand he held. "My parents are leaving for a few days, my dad has a patient a few towns over that asked for him. If you want, you could come over. Instead of laying on grass, maybe we could lay on a bed." 

"That's a bit gay, don't you think?" Eddie asked, smiling. Richie laughed, but Eddie knew he was waiting with bated breath, afraid of the word no and more afraid of what might follow it. "I'll need your help sneaking out of my house." Eddie said, which relieved Richie instantly. 

"Of course. Tonight, right as the clock strikes eleven. I'll be at your window." Richie smiled. 

"Tonight." Eddie repeated.


	6. The Itch You Can't Control

"Benjamin." Richie said, lounging on Mrs.Denborough's fainting couch. "You should be off to bed soon. You've a long night ahead." he messed, which made Ben blush. 

"What are you doing here?" Ben asked, speaking quietly to not sound rude, but the increasing speed of his heart made it impossible to not over react. 

"His parents are ah-h-out of town." Bill said, pushing Richie's legs off of the couch and sitting in the arm chair across from him. "My mom ah-offered to feed the stray." He said, landing his eyes on the tomcat, Richard. 

"Where'd they go?" Ben asked. 

"Hell if they don't change their ways." Richie said, falling back on the couch dramatically and putting his legs back up on it. "I'll be an orphan by the daylight." 

"His dad went to go see a pa-h-atient. They should be back in just a few days." Bill corrected. "Either way, my mother has asked him to come back. He somehow woos her." 

"She has poor taste." Ben said. Richie put his hand over his heart and sucked in breath as if he were in pain. 

"Your words do wound me, Benjamin. They lie when they say sticks and stones are the only breaker of bones." Richie said, then jumped up. "So, what are your plans tonight? A special date, I think I heard you say." He said excitedly. 

"A date?" Bill asked. He looked at Ben who had gone red again. "With wh-ho?" he asked. 

"You don't have to tell him if you don't want to Benny." Richie said, partially knowing how Bill had once loved Beverly, but also just to agonize Bill. 

"It's private. Richard." Ben said, glaring. 

"Suppose it was a private affair, you were still the one who dozed off in class this morning and told the world about it." Richie said. 

"Y-you fell asleep in class?" Bill asked. 

"Yes. Richie stop talking please." Ben pleaded. Richie put a hand over his mouth and pretended that he was mute. 

"Didn't y-you fall asleep last week too?" Bill asked. 

"I can't sleep." Ben admitted, exasperated over the guilt he felt. "I keep having these dreams and I can't fall asleep after them." 

"What kind of dreams?" Richie asked, leaning in as to not miss a single word Ben would say. 

"Dreams are private Richie, leave him alone." Bill said pushing Richie away from Ben. 

"Well," Ben said, which grabbed both of the other boys' attention, "maybe you could tell me how to get rid of them." Richie raised an eyebrow at him. 

"I think we should go somewhere private." Richie said. He stood and pulled Ben up with him. "Mrs.Denborough, we'll be right back. I need to see a book Bill has." he said, announcing towards the kitchen. 

"Alright, I'll call you when dinner's ready." she said. 

They all clambered up the stairs, practically running. They got to Bill's room and shut the door carefully, leaning a chair against it to prevent someone from coming in. Richie pushed Ben into the only other chair in the room, then settled on the ground in front of him waiting like a child for a story. 

"Go on then." he said. 

As Bill sat on the bed, he seemed to be just as eager as Richie. Ben, however, was almost horrified. Though, the part of him that was ready to relieve himself of these dreams urged him to speak. "I'd prefer to not be looking at you for this." he said. He looked away from them and at the window in the room. "Okay, this will do." he settled down. "See, the dream always starts the same that I'm lying in bed and tossing around trying to sleep. Then, she comes in-"

"Who is it?" Richie asked, wanting to hear that it was someone scandalous. He preferred not hearing Beverly's name just because he had always pictured her as a sister and less as a late-night visitor. 

"Madame Zimmerman from piano lessons." Ben said, which made Richie feel his own type of relief. "Anyways, she comes in and whispers to me that she wants to help then she-" Ben stopped himself. The other two assumed it was out of embarrassment, but really Ben was worried that the excitement would be too much. He was sensitive and easily fell over the edge. "she does that. And then when I'm finished she leaves me." 

"That's it?" Richie asked, almost like he was unimpressed. "She gives you a handjob and leaves?" he asked. Ben shushed him and Bill looked at Richie as if he'd said too much. "I thought there'd be more action. More imagination. Plot." he said. 

"How do I make the dreams stop?" Ben asked. 

"Well, Benjamin, allow me to sit in the teacher's seat." he stood, pushed Ben out of the chair, then sat in it himself. "You see, the best way to make a dream leave you is by living it." Both Ben and Bill looked at him with expressions of horror. "You see, dreams are suppressed reality. When you ignore urges and desires too long, they have ways of haunting you." Richie said. They still looked afraid. "By nature, we are all just animals with three intense desires to fulfill. Eating, surviving, and fornicating. When two are satisfied, you leave the third hungrier." They seemed to be understanding. "So, to get the third satisfied, you might have to go against a few of the rules of the church. If you're too hungry, you might kill. If you're not going to survive, say from a disease, you run to the sciences, and when you need to have sex, you go find someone who is willing and able, and you get it on-scientifically speaking." Richie said. 

"So y-you're saying to abandon religion and go commit ah-adultery?" Bill asked. 

"On the contrary, I'm saying to ask for forgiveness." Richie offered. "You think your parents waited? The only men who wait are men who don't want it in the first place." he said. They both sat and thought for a moment, then nodded, accepting what he'd said. "Any further questions?" he asked. 

Ben put his hand up. Richie called on him as if they were in a classroom. "What if you don't know how." Ben asked. 

"Now, Benjamin. Are you telling me you've never experienced the ethereal feeling of a woman's physical love?" Richie asked, playing with Ben who'd turned a darker shade of red from what he was just a moment before. "Bill?" But, Bill was silent too. "Virgins, the lot of you." he said. "Sex is a natural instinct for men and women, but mostly it is aimed for the man to be pleased. That is how children are made after all. However, if you want to give the woman a better time than she will get if it's just your sweaty body thrashing over her, then you've come to the right place." He said. He paused, then walked to Bill's desk, grabbing two pencils and two pieces of paper. He sat back down and handed them to both boys. "Take notes." he said. Ben eagerly grabbed the paper, Bill stalled for a second but ultimately admitted defeat and took it. "A woman's body, though delicate in sight and to touch, is a vessel of strength. Treat her like she is gentle, but listen when she says that she can handle more. Otherwise, she'll get bored." Bill raised his hand. "Yes?"

"Is this based on eh-experience oh-or another book you've read?" he asked. 

"Yes." He said, which confused the two students, but he went on. "You see, women know their bodies just as well as men know their own. Never assume you know her better than she does. But, when you do have sex, make sure she knows it's out of love and not desire. Unless you're having sex with a prostitute, women want to feel wanted, not like they're just another person passing through. Though I disagree with a lot of things the church says, I do agree that sex is sacred in some sense." 

Both boys waited for more, but Richie seemed distracted. He stuck his nose up in the air and took a few sniffs in like a bloodhound. "Boys dinner's on." Richie said and hopped out of the seat. Ben looked, alerted. He wrote the last few notes, then followed Richie. He was already downstairs and laying down silverware on the table as Mrs.Denborough told him how to place it. Ben's mother was trying to take it from his hands, but Richie moved them out of her reach. "It's my chore, Mrs.Hanscom. Please sit down." he said to her. She tried one more time, but gave up. Bill had never seen Richie act so civil. He was almost surprised Richie knew how to use utensils, but he had learned a long time ago that even Neanderthals could use simple tools.


	7. Where I Go, When I Go There

Eddie had waited all night, bouncing his leg at the dinner table, anxiously waiting the strike of 12. His mother saw that he wasn't eating much and took his temperature. She spoon fed him some of the potatoes and forced him to eat the greens. He did this all as best he could, trying to appease her, though he knew he never really would. "Eddie-bear I think you should sleep in my room tonight." She said, feeling his forehead with her hand one last time. 

"I swear I'm fine." he responded, pulling her hand off his face. "I just didn't feel hungry. But I do now." he lied. She eyed him as he grabbed his plate and finished it off, choking down the flavorless meal. 

"Let me give you something then." she said and stood from the table. It took her a minute to shuffle across the floor, but she made it to the bathroom and back in under five minutes. She had a spoon in one hand and was opening a glass bottle with the other. "This will make sure you're really feeling better." she said. As she poured the liquid in the spoon, he saw the deep purple of the syrup mimic a black tar. He looked between the spoon and his mother waiting on her to say he didn't have to take it if he didn't want to. She, however, gave no hint of allowing resistance. She moved the spoon closer to his mouth, pushing it to his lips and waiting for him to open wide like a child. As she watched the spoon, making sure none of the liquid spilled over the edge as her hands shook, he was watching her. He was glaring. He wanted to ask a million questions but knew he could either submit of face another consequence, something he felt would be much worse. So, he opened his mouth and accepted the spoon onto his tongue. He took the medicine like a shot of alcohol and imagined never seeing her again. Because of her insatiable desire to take care of him, he had the maddening desire to prove to her that he had a disease that would never be cured. He wanted to throw the table across the room and tell her about his rendezvous' and how he enjoyed them so much. He wanted to hurt her because he knew he could. He wanted to make it fair. "There. Now, go get ready for bed." she said to him, patting his head and kissing his forehead. 

He watched her shuffle away. When she was far enough away, he ran to the bathroom on his side of the house and turned on the water to the tub. He made sure the running water was loud enough then forced two fingers in his throat to throw up whatever mystery liquid his mother had just forced into him. After he relieved himself of his dinner and poisons, he washed his face and drank some of the water from the basin near his sink. His throat felt raw, like someone had scratched at it for years. When he left for his room, he looked for his mother, not seeing her. She had a tendency to rush off to her evening chair and drift off in it. He assumed and hoped that she was there. He quickly ran to his room, careful not to disturb the squeaky planks of wood beneath him. Once he was inside, he ran to his wardrobe and grabbed some clothes, just enough to change into after he stayed at Richard's house. 

He thought about Richie for a moment, pausing his packing and taking a seat on the bed. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small paper star. Richie had given it to him ages ago, 'pajarita' he'd said. Eddie had never seen or done his own paper folding but he always admired it. He'd met Richie accidentally when they bumped into each other at the pond. Richie, prior to this, had only ever spent late afternoons at the pear tree. Eddie went to the tree every morning and stayed just long enough to see the sun rise over the field. Then, he'd return to his home and help his mother with whatever. They'd always been passing ships, though they didn't know until they collided. Richie's lessons were out early on account of his teacher being sick one day. This one day was different for Eddie too. Eddie's mom had been forcing him to try what Richie referred to as snake-oil. It was supposed to cure any disease and increase your lifespan up to ten years. His mother still took it every day in hopes that she would see her son produce grandchildren. Eddie was tired of it. His whole life have been riding on the back of snake oil and foods that magically cured every disease you never knew was in your body and frequent visits to the priest to bless away foul spirits. It'd been like that since his father's death, that much he knew. His mother had watched her father die a horrible death, he will admit that, but she took it out on him now. When he was younger, he would believe her. But, he'd met Richie and that changed. They met at a younger age, he guessed twelve. They had found each other in their private space. They debated finding somewhere to go to be alone, but they each seemed to like the other. Thus, both boys would meet under the pear tree and chase the geese on warm afternoons. Richie would tell him what he'd learned in school and Eddie in turn would tell him the million diseases that never existed. Mostly, they kept their friendship private and neither really knew why. Eventually, Richie had told Beverly about the boy under the pear tree and Beverly was eager to meet him. They all did meet, which was when Eddie realized that he might have liked Richie too much. After he met Bev the first time, he really didn't want to meet her again. At least not for a while. Richie understood, it just took him longer to understand the 'why'. One day after this, they sat a little too close and spoke a bit too freely. Then, Richie kissed Eddie's cheek as he had done a few times, feeling his heart race in his chest. Eddie stalled for a second, but pulled him into a chaste kiss on the lips. Both seemed paralyzed, but both felt their souls go light as air. "I couldn't have said it better myself." Richie teased which broke Eddie out of his dazed state. 

Eddie had never felt so light in his life. From the moment he met Richie, there was a weight he'd never notice taken off his shoulders. He'd never really had a friend before, Richie being the first kid his age that he'd met made a great impact on Eddie's view of the outside world. Eddie only knew doctors and the apothecaries who sold his mother cures. Richie painted a picture that Eddie could have never gotten for himself. He saw the world in all its beauty as the sciences developed and the arts took over other cultures, but he also saw the honest side of humans. He saw their lies and schemes and their cruelties they passed as necessary acts. He had once debated whether he liked other people enough to leave his home, but he decided he liked Richie well enough to try. 

He laid in his bed and waited to hear his mother moving around. He closed his eyes for just a moment, but ended up waking at the sound of her walking into his room. Her thundering steps approached him, making his want to stiffen, but denying himself the ability so that she would believe his facade. She walked to him, knelt beside his bed, and rested her elbows next to him, pressing into the bed and almost making him turn over. She started to mumble under her breath, but he heard her. "Lord look upon my son and heal him of any disease. Father forgive him for leaving my side during the day, he is young but he will learn. Forgive him for any unrighteous thoughts he might have. Forgive him-" she went on and on like Richie did, only she wasn't saying anything interesting. Eventually, she stood, using the bed to push herself up which made the frame creak horribly. He heard her leave, listening to the floorboards groan beneath her. "Goodnight Eddie-Bear." she said and-he knew she had done this-blew a kiss in his direction. 

He waited a few minutes before he moved. When he did, he saw that she had left his door open just a crack. He looked at his clock, seeing that it was getting late. Richie would be there soon. He carefully stepped through the house, seeing that his mother's door was closed, he knew she was asleep. Every night she would take a pill to help her sleep, but the pill made her sleep so deeply that she wouldn't wake until late in the morning. Eddie woke up with the sun, something his mother hadn't done in a long time. 

There was something he wanted to do too. He walked into her bathroom and looked for the bottle of whatever she'd given to him earlier. He looked through her cabinet, seeing little to nothing inside. Then, he took a moment to think where she might hide something. Wherever it was, it was definitely in the bathroom. He looked around, checked the cabinet two more times out of hope he'd just skimmed over the bottle. Then, he realized that the floor seemed to creak too loudly. He threw back the small rug and saw where the wooden plank could lift out of its spot. He pulled it up and saw a series of slim glass bottles, one of which had a black liquid similar to what he'd taken earlier. He grabbed it and read through the ingredients, memorizing the contents and putting it back as he'd found it. He ran back to his room and wrote them down. 

Time passed both unbearably slow and insatiably fast. The hour before he was bored trying to make up things in his mind to do. But as time drew closer his anxiety grew. He was afraid his mother would know he left, he was afraid she'd track him down, he was afraid she'd catch him, he was afraid of her wrath. But he wasn't. He wanted her to see for some odd reason. He wanted her to know what he knew: that he was in love and there was no disease. He wanted to tell her, deeply, he wanted her to be a part of his life. But, he knew she would never allow both realities to exist at once. It was either Richie or her, she would make him choose. Richie wouldn't but he also could do nothing about his mother denying the ability for both. Thus, he wanted her to know. 

All went quiet in his head when he heard a tap on his window. He recognized the quiet knock, the Morse code the short long short of the letter R telling him his suitor was present.


	8. Now That's Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This goes out to that one person in the comments, thanks dude <3

As they walked, Richie and Eddie spoke fervently about their lives and their futures, hopefully together. Richie was excited to move to the city and live above a bustling street. He said he'd work until he was crippled and then he would retire back to the country and lay under another pear tree off in a new world and read only fictions. Eddie waited to hear where he fit into this story, but then realized he was heavily weaved into this life. He would live in the townhouse with Richie, he'd be the domestic and make sure Richie wouldn't live like a bachelor in his own filth. Eddie wanted to be a Coachmaker, he wanted to build. He'd always dreamed of building his own home by his own design. That is the home he and Richie would retire into, he decided. He wanted kids, though he knew there was hardly a chance. Their best chances were for Richie to have an affair, which would never happen. Maybe they could have dogs. Eddie settled in his mind for the dogs. 

"We could steal a child." Richie said making Eddie laugh though he knew Richie would do so if Eddie even hinted it. "We'll find one some day." He promised and kissed the hand he was holding. They approached his house. Eddie's heart raced. He'd been to the Tozier residence a few times, mostly without their knowledge. Every time was just as alarming as the last. Eddie lived away from other houses, but Richie lived in a neighborhood. There was houses, though spread apart, they were nearby. He always worried about someone seeing him, but knew that very few adults knew him so he had very little to worry about. Then he'd think of Richie and how people might speak about him. But, Richie never cared about other's thoughts. If he did, he might care more about going to church. He might not slouch or talk so much. He might cut his hair or slick it back. But he would never. Because of this, he wanted a little version of Richie running around wrecking havoc on Earth. He figured if there was a child with both of their personalities and both of their minds and both of their hearts, the child would be good. They would be kind. And, maybe, they would be a girl. He deeply wanted a girl. 

Richie held the door for Eddie to walk in. As he did, he saw the paintings Maggie had collected. She liked still-lifes and how joyful they presented themselves to be. Richie had told him this. 

He turned to face his lover and pulled him in, kissing him deeply. Richie was smiling which ruined the kiss. "Tell me, would you want a house like this?" he asked. Eddie kept a hand on his chest and looked around. 

"Less walls. Less doors to shut. I appreciate privacy, but imagine a busy house with narrow halls. It'd be a disaster." Eddie said. Richie looked at the house in a new light and imagined the home he knew as Eddie described it. He smiled, imagining children running about. He had the same dream as Eddie, though he did steal some of Eddie's ideas. 

"That should save some money then." Richie said. Eddie smiled and looked up into the blue eyes that calmed him so. 

"Suppose we did live together, what would you want more than anything in the world?" Eddie asked, wanting to know what deep desire Richie held. He wanted to know if he could move the heavens to appease his love. 

Richie seemed to think for a good bit, looking around, looking out the window, but his eyes settled on Eddie. He had memorized every dimple and dip of his cheeks, the places where his forehead would draw lines when he furrowed his brow, the way his eyelashes fluttered when he looked up at Richie. He knew the same flutter in his chest when Eddie did this. "If I could have you look at me every day with the same eyes, I would live in heaven." Richie said. 

Eddie broke into a smile and pulled his boyfriend towards the stairs, leading the way to his room. Richie followed just as excited as if it was the first time they'd done this. It had been not too long ago and not too many times ago, but he remembered waking up next to Eddie every time as if it were the first. Eddie too fell in love every time he was over. He loved Richie's deep breathing as he slept. He loved feeling the weight of Richie laying on top of him. He loved that when Richie talked in his sleep, he was all nonsense. At some point, they both admitted that they just loved one another. 

"Will you stay all night?" Richie asked, Eddie had only once before stayed all night. The other times, he had stayed for a while, but left before the sunrise. 

Eddie looked at Richie's face, his eyes practically begging Eddie to comply. "I suppose I have no other choice." he said. 

"You always do." Richie reminded him, though the meaning went deeper than a request to stay over. Eddie kissed Richie sweetly, standing on his tip-toes to reach him.

"Then I suppose I will anyways." He eased Richie. As much as Eddie had learned from Richie, Richie had learned from Eddie. He lost his anger and his betrayal when he was around the boy. He almost seemed to melt. He felt the purest form of his happiness when they were laying under the pear tree on top of one another. He'd felt it from the moment they met and he felt it every day. As strange as it was and though they were always on thin ice so near to falling in, there was a clarity that would rush over his body like a wave that released his mind first and his toes last. He stood less stiff, he thought less, and he felt more. He wasn't drained by professors when he was with Eddie. Truly, Richie understood religion when he loved Eddie. He understood the devotion of the mind and body to the divinity he was given. Never given heaven, but whatever it was that sat between the two seemed just as righteous. 

Richie kissed Eddie, more passionately than before. He walked them towards his bed, pushing Eddie onto it while he knelt in front of him. He said nothing, but looked into Eddie's eyes, waiting for him to take it all away. He never would. He pulled at Eddie's clothes and threw them to the floor, then climbed between his legs, laying him back on the bed. "Tell me when to stop." Richie warned. 

"I won't ask you to." He responded. They spent hours, slowly learning each other's bodies. Richie had Eddie undressed so quickly that Eddie made him catch up. He admired Richie in the moonlight as he stood, down to his slacks with no shirt. The light reflected from his pale chest dipping away in the curves of his ribs and hips. Eddie, however, was not so thin. He was small and slim, but he wasn't thin. With all of the housework, all of the wood chopping and the heavy lifting, he had maintained a physique Da Vinci would swoon at. And Richie was so prideful of this piece of art he would never have to share. Once, Richie had looked for a long enough time to memorize the beauty. Now, though, he knew the ins and outs of Eddie's body and vice versa. They knew the anatomy and they were at the soul now. 

They'd swiped oil from Maggie's kitchen and used it thoroughly. They laughed, always, at the ingenuity of oil. And, since Richie had mentioned it, the use of olive oil. But, the laughter settled into quiet heavy breaths. Richie felt pride again, kissing Eddie's neck and smiling uncontrollably. Eddie would've been embarrassed had he not been enjoying himself so much. Then, he was ready and Richie would hold Eddie's hands, leading the gentle limb to where they connected. He'd watch with darkened eyes and he moved in and out, seeing Eddie tilt his head back and let his mouth open as he did. He always tried not to observe, he tried to leave behind his studying gaze, but he wanted to see this moment until he rolled over and died. 

When they were coming down, Eddie rested on Richie's chest. His leg was thrown over his body and Richie let himself be a pillow. He always joked that he was a useless pillow, he wasn't soft. "I wonder if it's always quiet at night in every city." Eddie said as they listened to crickets chirp and cicadas sing. They'd grown up on this quiet noise. 

"Mom says the city gets loud late at night. But, she is always around the cities with liquor." Richie said. "Would you rather have the noise?"

"I suppose some nights I would." Eddie said, then stopped and thought for a long time. Richie nuzzled into his neck and occasionally placed lazy kisses along his throat. "I think I want to move away from my mom." He said, which stalled Richie. Eddie noticed and decided to go on. "I think I want to live somewhere far away." He said. 

"Did something happen?" Richie asked. 

"What's chloroform and Diazepam?" Eddie asked in return. 

Richie rolled sat up on his elbow to see Eddie's face. "Why?" 

"What is it?" Eddie asked again. 

"They're a bad combination. Chloroform knocks you out and Diazepam leaves you there." Richie answered finally. "Why?" he asked again, more adamant. 

"My mother made me take some before bed." Eddie answered, feeling small. Richie laid back down and pulled Eddie back on top of him. He ran his fingers through Eddie's hair and kissed the top of his head. 

"One day we can live together." Richie said. He was furious. Eddie could hear his heart beating in his chest and his mind going one hundred miles an hour again. 

"Would I have died if I didn't throw it up?" he asked. Richie never answered. Eddie looked up at him, his chin was resting on Richie's chest. "Did she almost kill me?" he asked. 

Richie looked at him with sad eyes, his mind finally halted when he looked into the deep brown doe-eyes that looked back into him. He only felt sad. "Yes." Richie said. And that was all he said. He had mourned for a moment the life he almost lost. Finally, his breathing steadied and he felt like he was back on Earth. 

"I don't want to go back." Eddie said. Richie felt a small tear fall on his chest. His whole body went cold and his stomach developed goosebumps. 

"One day you won't have to." He said. In his mind he threatened the angels above. 'Take the Annabelle Lee, take young Beatrice, take whoever you please. Please just leave him with me.' he begged. 'Please' He let a quiet tear ride down his cheek before he started to pet Eddie again and he felt that serenity wash over him again. His final thought before sleep came was 'I will burn the Earth looking for him, angels. If he goes, everything follows.'


	9. Tell Me Please, All is Forgiven

Mike Hanlon was walking through a narrow garden gate at the light of the full moon. He had plucked a flower that smelled so sweet it had to be doused in perfume. He stood at the edge of the flower beds and admired the spring of colors around him. "Mike?" he heard behind him, he turned, seeing the curly hair man he'd met just a few hours prior. Stan didn't seem mad or afraid, Mike knew he was intruding. "What are you doing here?" Stan asked, pulling his coat close to his cold body. Mike was curious as to why because the air wasn't cold. It was almost warm in the night. 

"You said something to me that I can't shake." Mike said, passing Stan the flower which he took between his index and thumb. He was barely holding it. "The seas will turn over, the sky will paint new clouds each day, and they will go on if we aren't here to see." He quoted Stan who looked at Mike as if he'd forgotten all the words he'd ever read or spoken. "What did you mean by that?" he asked. 

"Nothing so important you need to make the journey all the way here." Stan said. 

"I wish I believed you." Mike said, stepping towards Stan who looked up at him with sad eyes. "Stan can we take a walk?" Mike asked. Stan looked at his house, the faint glow of his mother's light as she read before lying down. He looked at the moon and the faint blue that fell over the hills outside. Then, he pulled Mike away from the house towards a trail. 

They walked down to the meadow, but Stan knew a small unpaved trail in the woods that would lead to an opening. As they walked, both were quiet. Stan was waiting on Mike to say something and Mike was doing the same. He didn't want to ask again, and he secretly hoped that Stan would just speak. 

Stan forgot everything when he was with Mike. He couldn't explain it, but he felt it within his chest that the cage around his lungs loosened. It was as if the penetrating bones that infiltrated his organs was suddenly gone. It was as if it were never there, but was just a distant nightmare. "Why did you come here?" he asked, remembering his anxieties. Why did Mike care? Why did he need to speak to Stan? Why was it so urgent and secretive? Had Stan spoken too freely earlier?

Mike stopped their walk. "Stan." He said gently and grabbed Stan's hand. The grip was firm, but Stan wasn't afraid he would never let go. He felt more comfort in this moment than he had in a long time. He wanted to know why Mike made him feel this way. He also wanted to know if he felt the same. He laughed to himself, almost madly as he stared at their clasped hands. "What is it?" Mike eased up, curious. 

"Holy palmers' kiss." he said, as he said it he felt that she should take it back. But, he was afraid to. He was afraid to pay more attention to it, afraid to explain it, afraid of the definition. Mike seemed to understand then that Stan would never let himself go. He would keep himself on a tight leash for no reason other than to hang himself. In their earlier talks, he'd learned that Stan couldn't trust himself to be good enough, not for anyone. Mike wanted to argue the whole time. He barely knew Stan if you measured in time, but as time had become relative to him, one day aged slower than the whole year before, Mike understood that he knew Stan just as well as he knew himself. He felt like he'd spent a year with him and he wanted more. 

"Let lips do what hands do." Mike said, Stan looked up to him quickly. Before Stan could think, because if he would be given the chance to he would run and hate himself more, Mike gently grazed his cheek with his empty hand and kissed him so gently that Stan would know it was genuine but would not be alarmed. He stayed for a few seconds, but pulled back. Stan chased his lips and they resumed. All of the calamity of his mind suddenly ceased. Was he afraid? God he was terrified. But, was he happy? More than he had ever been in his life. When Mike pulled away, because it was Mike who did so, Stan had a tear running down his right cheek. But, he was smiling. "Will you tell me you're alright?" Mike almost pleaded. "And would you mean it?"

"I could tell you what you want to hear, but I wouldn't believe it myself." Stan spoke with weakly and quietly. His solemn eyes looked away from Mike, wanting to avoid how much trouble he was passing onto his-was it his friend? "I think I was born with sadness. I don't think I'm quite right." He said honestly, maybe too but so be it. "But you make me feel better. I know that's a horrible task to set on you."

"I'd be honored." Mike said to him.


End file.
